


you can rest, now

by ssolaris



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, IronDad and SpiderSon, Not A Fix-It, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, seriously don't read this if you haven't seen endgame yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssolaris/pseuds/ssolaris
Summary: MAJOR ENDGAME SPOILERS!!!!!.When it's Peter, Tony feels like he can't breathe.And when it's Tony, he still can't breathe.





	you can rest, now

**Author's Note:**

> hhfhsgd so hi, i'm definitely not new to writing fanfics but i am new to posting on ao3. uhh this is just 1.6k words of pure angst i'm not even gonna sugarcoat it. have fun :,)

When it’s Peter, Tony feels like he can’t breathe.  
  
It starts with a shift in the air, almost subtle, insignificant. Because the air on Titan runs thin and it’s hard to get a good breath in. But it’s tangible, and it’s _real,_ because among the silence it’s the alien girl that speaks first.  
  
Her eyes widen more, as if that’s even possible, and she says, “Something’s happening.”  
  
And then chills seem to race up her body and she crumbles into ashes and then she’s—gone. Just like that. The rest of the guardians follows suit, one after the other, like dominoes. Tony watches in awe and it leaves something cold and hard in his stomach but at least—at least _his_ people are safe, as selfish as it may be.  
  
He doesn’t want to lose anybody. His dream has always been to create a suit of armor around the world. But that thought, as intrusive as it is, lingers around in his mind anyways, like the settling dust around them.  
  
Tony spins around to meet Strange’s eyes, to ask what’s happening, because people don’t just _turn to ash_ like that and blow away in the wind.  
  
There’s something grim and dull in Stephen’s eyes the moment he locks onto them and he just _—knows.  
_  
“Tony,” he murmurs. “It was the only way.”  
  
And then he’s gone, like the rest of them.  
  
A force seems to slam into Tony and he grapples for air, feels like he’s going to fall over, because that can’t be. Strange had said—he said there was only one way where they’d win, and he had just given Thanos the stone, so easily. Because he’d do anything to keep it safe. Nausea churns in his stomach as his mind fits the puzzle pieces together and he reels back, suddenly feeling distant and empty.  
  
_If it comes to saving you, or the kid, or the time stone, I will not hesitate to let either of you die.  
_  
Strange never really sacrificed anything. They’re all—they’re all going to die here, aren’t they?  
  
“Mr. Stark?”  
  
Ice lances through his chest and it’s hard to force his body to move but he slowly turns around anyways. Peter staggers towards him, clutching his gut like he’s got a bad stomachache. His voice is so cracked and quiet and scared.  
  
“I don’t feel so good,” he croaks, and he pauses to stare down at himself like he’s just waiting for the dust to start rising. His brows are furrowed down in something almost like concentration, and Tony wonders absently if that’s his super-healing at work. He doesn’t know if it’ll do anything more than delay the inevitable.  
  
Carefully, Tony steps forward. Everything feels like its spinning around them and he has to make sure Peter doesn’t lose his balance before it’s too late. “… You’re alright.”  
  
Brown mist starts hissing off of Peter’s shoulders and Tony wishes, selfishly, that he could go first so he didn’t have to watch this.  
  
“I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t—” Peter stumbles forward, desperate and terrified now, and collides with Tony. Clutches onto him like a lifeline, like somehow he can keep him from going. Something wet stains the cloth of his shoulder, where Peter buries his face. It elicits something similar in Tony’s eyes, too. “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please. _Please._ ”  
  
And it hits Tony suddenly, with a feeling that makes his intestines twist and curl up painfully inside him, that Peter is still a kid. He hasn’t gotten to go to college yet, he hasn’t gotten to live life yet, he never—he never got to be a real Avenger. And he dragged this poor kid up here—dragged him into _all_ of this—and now he’s dying and Tony can’t do anything.  
  
He holds onto Peter tighter.  
  
“I don’t wanna go,” he whimpers, and he feels so much lighter now in Tony’s arm, his body starting to flake away in the wind. “I don’t wanna go.”  
  
They lose their footing and fall to the ground but Tony doesn’t let go, he wouldn’t dare. He can see Peter’s face now and it’s—it’s not scared, or miserable, like it was seconds ago. It’s something far more bone chilling. It’s something that will haunt Tony forever.  
  
Peter stares at him with _resignation._ His lip quivers as he whispers, so softly he almost doesn’t hear, “Tony. I’m sorry.”  
  
And then the kid falls silent. He swallows thickly and closes his eyes and lifts his chin like he’s trying to retain some dignity still, to prove he’s still strong and worthy. Tony can start to feel his shoulder caving in from underneath his palm. His face starts fracturing into a million little pieces and they all start peeling away until Peter’s gone, and Tony’s staring at nothing.  
  
He hefts himself down into the dirt and stares at his palms, unable to think straight. He stares at the black ashes still clinging to his fingers like poisonous barbs and he waits. He waits for the dust to take him away too, for his fingers to crumble into nothing or his face to shrivel away or even for his vision to fade into darkness. There’s a wretched, bottomless cavity cleaved into the pit of his stomach and all he wants is to turn into ash and disappear with the rest of them so he doesn’t have to think about _Peter_ and _I don’t wanna go_ and _I’m sorry_ anymore.  
  
It never happens.  
  
So Tony holds his breath.

* * *

When it’s _Tony,_ he still can’t breathe.  
  
But it’s for different reason this time, because his lungs feel like they’re actually going to cave in and the pain arching up his side is such an unbearable thing he’s never experienced before. And yet, strangely enough, as he collapses to the ground and leans against the shrapnel, his entire body seems to exhale in relief.  
  
Rhodey is first. His armor thuds against the ground firmly, and when his helmet lifts up his gaze is foggy. He creeps forward carefully and crouches down so he’s at eye level with Tony. He cups a steel hand on the side of his face, and its cool touch is such a nice reprieve from the scalding energy racing up his right side that he can’t help but sigh and lean into the touch.  
  
And then—Peter. _Peter._ He thwips around the corner and collides unceremoniously into the ground, panting for breath. His hair droops over his eyes from sweat and there’s still bruises and dried blood mottling his skin, visible wherever there isn’t red, blue, and gold plating.  
  
He seems frazzled and anxious from the fight but as soon as he sees Rhodey’s long face and Tony’s—worse for wear state, he sobers up. Falters.  
  
“Mr. Stark?” He sounds so tentative, as he kneels close to Tony and searches his face wildly, fighting against tears and undoubtedly trying to figure out a way to save him already. He reaches out and grazes his fingers along Tony’s chest plate, like he isn’t sure if he should be touching him, like he’ll shatter to pieces if he does.  
  
It’s hard for Tony to see out of his right eye. That entire side of his body is already blackened and the burning pain is getting swallowed with tingly numbness. He wants to speak but it’s too exhausting to do anything more than stare.  
  
Peter’s voice shakes. “Hey. Mr. Stark? Can you hear me? I-It’s Peter.”  
  
It’s so wrong. Tony wishes he could run away and hide and just die alone, in peace, because he doesn’t really want them here. No, he _does_ —selfishly—but he doesn’t want them to be sad, he doesn’t want them to cry and plead with the heavens while they just stand here and watch him waste away. He wants to tell Peter everything will be okay.  
  
He can’t do much more than gulp down a bit of oxygen and watch the kid break down right in front of his eyes.  
  
“We won, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. He clutches Tony’s pauldrons now, gritting his teeth against the tears pooling in his eyes. “We won. Mr. Stark _—we won._ You did it, sir, you did it.”  
  
Rhodey steps forward again and eases a hand on Peter’s shoulder to try and coax him away. Tony wants to say, _we did it._ He wants to tell him how proud he is, how much he missed him in these last five years. How sorry he is.  
  
Peter lurches forward, slides his fingers up to Tony’s neck, and sobs. “I’m sorry— _Tony…_ ”  
  
He bows his head down and cries and Tony just—he just wants to hug his kid one last time, tell him it’s okay, it’s not his fault. But everything feels so cold now. The pinpricks running down his mangled right side are sharp and light and fading away into the lull of the silence wrapped around them. Everything seems so much darker and muted now.  
  
Pepper is here—he doesn’t know when she arrived, but she’s here—and she helps Peter up to his feet. He trembles and seizes up, his face twisting to force back the emotion clawing out of his throat. She stands with him for a moment, rubbing his shoulders, before she steps forward to sit beside Tony.  
  
She looks at him for a long, long time, and he looks back. Guilt wrenches up inside him because he’s leaving her all alone, and he never got to say goodbye to Morgan one last time, and why-? Why couldn’t he do _better?_ He just wants his kids—his _family,_ to be okay. He just wants them to be safe and happy. Why can’t he ever—  
  
Tears drip down Pepper’s face and she strokes his hair gently.  
  
“You can rest, now,” she tells him, so resolutely despite the agony and despair wrought on her face. And he— _Tony—_  
  
He trusts her.  
  
So he does.  
  
And the whole world holds its breath.

**Author's Note:**

> anyways i'm really sad sorry u had to read this angsty mess. leave comments n kudos if you liked it


End file.
